rooted to nothing
by nekk'd
Summary: Normally the wind carries itself. Jinora/Bolin


**A/N:** _Because this is a band wagon I couldn't help but jump on. I guess to avoid confusion, Jinora is 17, which would probably make Bolin 24 or 25._

_Hope you like it~_

* * *

Whose eyes are these, these charcoaled, mascaraed to caking eyes that remind her of someone she used to know. The hair looks a bit more familiar; brown, once curled, now limp with rain, hanging over her bare shoulders while she fingers, and then steps away from the reflective glass of a shop window and trudges painfully through the night capped streets of Republic City.

Tongue runs over lips, cracked with drying lip gloss and dehydration. It's cold. Drizzling trail after trail down her shirt and soaking into her leggings so they stick like a second skin.

Despite being ditched by her "friends" and having come to terms with her recent assumption of her role as Generic Teenage Stereotype Number One, she smiles at the idea of just getting back home. 'Home', for the time being, meaning Korra and Mako's place where she takes care of the baby. In exchange, she gets free room and board, and as much access to the library's and government dealings as any average citizen could get, and then some because the Avatar needs her to change diapers while she's out saving the world. She's even signed up to take some courses at the university over the summer. Her father objected to everything. She didn't listen. So the story goes.

But none of that matters right now, because in this moment, in this small fragment of her young life, is a flaw in judgement. Assuming you know people after a few short months of letting them prod you into something, well, _desirable_ to hang around with, isn't a good idea. She understands that now. They move onto the next club without you while you try to fix your broken, four inch neon pink stiletto heel in the bathroom. Even though they know you still have trouble finding your way around the city. And can now barely even walk.

It's cold. It's really, really cold.

Lips taste like the makeup the salt water pouring out of her eyes picks up. Maybe that's just the taste of social failure. Maybe they're the same taste.

"Jinora?"

She turns, bare feet rotating slowly with her body to regard the man walking beneath an umbrella and giving her a face that tells her she probably looks like she's been assaulted in an alley. He quickens his strides when her face twists with relief at seeing him, then melts into whimpering with the anticipation of telling him—or anyone, really—about her night. And at this point, she knows she can't really be expected to give any other explanation but the truth.

"Did you hurt your ankle?" he asks, looking from the shoes she's carrying to her feet, and then back to her eyes. While she's nodding, he stuffs the handle of the umbrella into her free hand. She also lets him pry her mouth open so she can bite down on the bag of donuts he's carrying.

"Bowin," she tries to speak, saliva leaking over the brown paper, "Why oo ere…ow oo fide me…"

"Shh." He's fondling her foot, his big, warm hands trying to find where she's screwed herself over. "I'll ask the questions."

Yes, Korra knows she's out. It was her idea for her to experience the nightlife a little.

No, she hadn't brought a glider with her, that's why she was walking.

Yes, that spot hurt like a-

"Don't use those words," he says with appalled sternness, hoisting her predictably into his arms while she keeps the umbrella over their heads, leaving the shoes where they lie on the side walk.

Here, eat a donut, he says. You need more meat on you anyway, he says. You don't need friends like that anyway, you're smart and a classy gal, he says. Believe me, he says.

And she's just crying silently, and chewing her donut into his jacket clad chest, realizing that this is the first time in a long time she's been held up from the ground by somebody else. And it feels…nice.

"When I get you back to the house, you just dry yourself off, huh? No problemo. I bet you already thought about doing that. Heck, _my_ hair could probably use some air bending. I still don't get why you didn't just blow all your jerk friends away..."

"Korra will eat your donut if you don't," she points out, shoving it in his mouth.

The rain is nice now. And it isn't so cold


End file.
